


(Feel) Like a Circle in a Square Hole

by AifasInTheSky



Category: HLVRAI - Fandom, Half-Life VR but the AI is Self-Aware - Fandom
Genre: (I hope they get the tags separated soon), (I want to use the opportunity to apologize to HL fans for the clutter again), Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Enemies to Friends, Gen, Mild Gore
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-06
Updated: 2020-09-06
Packaged: 2021-03-07 00:27:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,511
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26317927
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AifasInTheSky/pseuds/AifasInTheSky
Summary: Benrey doesn't know why or how he ended up a few steps away from Gordon's apartment.
Relationships: Benrey & Gordon Freeman
Comments: 20
Kudos: 122





	(Feel) Like a Circle in a Square Hole

When he recovers his consciousness, he can’t help but hiss in pain.

The raindrops mercilessly hit his newly-formed skin, his incomplete flesh, his bare bones. He forces his weary body to stand up, and shuffles his way to a nearby tree, seeking refuge under its leaves.

He looks up, his eyes adjusting to the low night lighting. He realizes, surprised, that he recognizes this area.

He’s mere steps away from Gordon’s apartment complex.

Why did the universe, or whatever, decide to drop him here? Gordon’s made clear he doesn’t want anything to do with him. No one in the Science Team does; he’s sure of it. He doesn’t want to be where he’s unwelcome at.

Don’t mistake him: he knows he’s been pestering Gordon to no avail during the whole Black Mesa incident. Why should he care now? Well: a difference can be made when the person wholeheartedly tries to kill you—and succeeds. There’s a big difference in using an immortal being as a punching bag—no matter how resentful it made him be in the end—and actually finding a way to make them mortal and finishing them off for good.

They haven’t, of course, somehow. But it’s the intention that counts.

However, he can’t stay here forever, not in this state. He needs cover, he needs rest, he needs to heal. And, for motives he can’t for the life of him—heh—explain, he’s ended up here.

Alright. Only one way to go.

He climbs the metal stairs to Gordon’s apartment, each step excruciating for his sensitive exposed nerves. He attempts to knock the door, but he only succeeds in leaning heavily against it with a loud thump. He can hear footsteps heading in his direction from inside the apartment, and he makes a last effort to stand up the straightest he can—he still has some pride in him, as helpless as he is right now.

The door opens and Gordon shouts.

“What the—how—Benrey!”

“’Sup,” he grits between his teeth, attempting to smirk. It must have looked like shit, though, because Gordon’s eyes actually betray impossible concern behind his glare.

“What the hell are you doing here? How are you _even_ here?! You’re supposed to—”

“Yes, I know. We all know.” His teeth ache. Everything aches. He just wants to lie down on a horizontal surface and be left alone. “Let me in. Please?”

Gordon stares at him. There’s something in his gaze, something he can’t bear to look at, so he averts his eyes, trying not to bite his tongue off.

“Alright. Get in.”

He doesn’t get to take a step inside the apartment. His vision gets blurry and he crumbles at the threshold of Gordon’s house, at Gordon’s feet. And his last thought is a curse towards the hands that painfully drag him up and away from the rainy night.

\-----

He wakes up on a couch.

He’s been covered by a blanket while he was unconscious. While he’d appreciate the gesture in other circumstances, this only makes him burn with shame. The fabric irks his senses, too; he’s still too sensitive to welcome any touch. But he guesses he would’ve been in an even worse condition if he’d been left to dry on the couch, completely uncovered.

He doesn’t need Gordon’s pity, though.

It pains him. It pains him like nothing else does. He knows Gordon doesn’t want him there. Why would he? He tried to kill them all. But he can’t afford to say no to the promise of shelter, so he’ll do his best to just… not antagonize him. Be out of his way.

A door opens nearby. Gordon peeks out of it.

“Oh, you’re awake.”

He doesn’t answer, still too uncomfortable from the blanket’s touch to be willing to give an answer. Gordon either doesn’t notice or doesn’t care, because he shrugs and heads to another room. He hears the sound of plates and cutlery—kitchen, he mentally jots down—and soon enough, Gordon comes out with two sandwiches and crouches to his level.

He knows how to recognize a peace offering when he sees one, so he takes one of them.

It hurts, the way his incomplete lips stretch over his teeth as he takes a bite. His jaw is sore from all the teeth-grinding he did, which makes the process of eating actually more excruciating than anything. It’s not as if food has any effect on him. He’d rather eat when he’s… Well. Not like this. Gordon is watching, though, so he makes an effort to look nonchalant.

“So,” Gordon starts. “Why are you here?”

“I don’t know,” he answers truthfully. He doesn’t feel the need to elaborate; he couldn’t, even if he tried.

“You don’t…” Thankfully, Gordon doesn’t press on the matter. Unfortunately, he pokes at his left side’s bare radius. “And what’s up with this form, huh? Trying to give me a heart attack?”

He grunts in pain more than in answer. But Gordon seems to take it as a dismissal.

“Alright, whatever. Don’t tell me.” Gordon straightens up. “You’re here already, so… Stay, I guess.”

Gordon isn’t looking at him when he says that. He supposes it’s a pretty gruesome sight. Or maybe he doesn’t want to return his gaze anymore. It could be.

Gordon walks away, and he stays there, still covered in the blanket, holding the sandwich in his fully-formed hand.

\-----

He looks at himself in the mirror.

There’s no visible bone anymore. Just bare muscle in some select places. After weeks of healing, it still hurts, to his annoyance. It shouldn’t. He hasn’t felt pain in many years—he mentally curses himself for relying too much on the protection the passports gave him.

His face is finally complete, though. He decides to celebrate by finally getting a snack.

He hasn’t been able to go out since the night he arrived. Gordon has been running groceries, but, as doesn’t know what he likes, and given that he hasn’t eaten ever since the sandwich, he hasn’t bothered to buy anything for him. Which means that he’ll have to make do with whatever he finds in the kitchen.

What he finds is cereal. And milk. He shrugs—it’s as good as anything. He opens the box, as careful as he can be not to make a mess, and takes a handful of it.

As soon as he’s about to pout the milk into his mouth straight from the jug, though, Gordon surprises him.

“Shit!” he yells as the milk drips onto Benrey’s shirt instead. “Don’t do that, man!”

Benrey doesn’t really look at him. He hasn’t ever since he’s been back. His gaze, fixated at a point over Gordon’s shoulder, soon lowers in submission. “Sorry,” he mutters, and exits the kitchen, sliding past an astounded Gordon.

\-----

Gordon seems to have noticed he eats, as he’s started buying Doritos in a misguided attempt to fit his diet.

(He doesn’t like Doritos. He’d rather eat chips instead. But he can’t let them go to waste now; Gordon will be pissed. They don’t suck _that_ much, anyways.)

Gordon sees him eat them once. He must have noticed his discomfort, because he starts bringing Cheetos instead. A bit more bearable.

It makes sense. Neither Gordon does need another dead body on his own house, nor does he want to take care of rotten food. It’s practical. It’s a solution.

It’s cohabitation. Awkward as hell, but it works.

\-----

His hands itch for something to do.

He misses playing games. He misses the feeling of a controller in his hands, the press of the buttons, the concentration he could only achieve when the games gave him a challenge to overcome, to become the best at it.

He won’t ask Gordon for anything, though.

Maybe Gordon would comply. But he’d rather not risk it. He does, however, dare to use the remote to zap channels, to have at least _something_ to do.

Gordon sometimes tries to sit in the couch when he’s on it.

The first times, he had to scoot over to the opposite side of the couch. Gordon, though he’d frowned oddly at him, had made no comment. And since then, they’ve been sitting there, in silence, a person-wide space between them as Benrey watches nothing and everything at once.

Sometimes Gordon makes a comment. They’re becoming more and more frequent, but he never pays them any mind. He just watches. Watches. Watches until Gordon drops it and stares back at the ever-changing show.

\-----

He stares at the framed picture resting on the bookcase.

It’s the same picture Gordon had in his locker. He stands by what he said; it’s pretty shitty. One can lightly distinguish the features of the kid’s face, but not really. It feels odd. Artificial.

He’s an expert with those kinds of things.

“You know,” Gordon blurts from behind him. He doesn’t jump anymore, somewhat used to Gordon’s sudden interventions, but he can’t completely repress a nervous twitch at the voice. “That’s not a real kid.”

He turns his head in his general direction. “Why do you, uhh… have a random picture of a kid?”

Gordon rubs his neck and looks away. “People don’t stop asking stupid questions.” He laughs nervously. “I got pestered about it so much that I said, ‘You know what? Fuck it, they aren’t even gonna notice,’ and printed that from a stock image website.”

Benrey remembers how Gordon laughed when he thought he’d called his “son” shitty. Now he gets why he didn’t give him that much shit about it. Now, he could tease him about it. He could use it as joking material for years on end.

It doesn’t feel right, though. Not anymore.

He hums in assent and walks away from the bookcase, heading to the couch to take a nap—yes, he _is_ avoiding Gordon. He’s still making himself as unobtrusive as possible, in order to not be kicked out. Why he hasn’t left is still a mystery to himself. He’s pretty much healed by now. But the fact remains he still doesn’t really have somewhere to go. Anything would be preferable to this awkwardness, though.

Gordon seems to think the same.

“Alright, what’s your problem?” he asks, voice getting angry. Benrey just grunts into the couch’s backrest. “Are you hurt? Or are you just trying to be difficult?”

That’s the opposite of what he’s trying to do. Annoyance bubbles up inside him, threatening to escape through his lips, but he swallows it down and glares at the red fabric of the couch.

“This is all a ploy, isn’t it? To get me to worry on top of being pissed?” Gordon sighs. He can picture him pinching the bridge of his nose. “Well, damn it, it’s working. What’s up, man?”

“Nothing,” Benrey says into the couch, heart bumping fast. Worry? Why? How?

“No, don’t ‘nothing’ me.” Gordon puts a hand on his shoulder, and he flinches under it. It hurts, but not exactly in a physical way. “Something’s up.”

“Drop it, bro. I’m here. Won’t always be here, I promise. Don’t make it difficult.”

“What… What do you mean?” Gordon says, gripping him tighter. Benrey’s done; he can’t—he shakes him off and directs his glare at him.

“I know you don’t want me here.” He sees Gordon recoil, eyes wide. “I don’t know why I’m here. I just am. I won’t cause trouble. Pinky promise.”

“Benrey, you—” Gordon’s eyes soften. “I’d rather be annoyed by you on a daily basis than… than this odd thing that’s been going on. It’s shit.”

He feels himself boil. “That’s the point, huh? Wanna get pissed at ol’ Benrey? Want me to be the villain again?” He spits red and coal— _fuck your goal_ —Sweet Voice. “No. I won’t.”

“What? No! Benrey—” Gordon’s expression screams so many things at once that he can’t decipher them. He never could. “I was about to ask who hurt you, but I think I know the answer, haven’t I?”

He deflates. He sings a few sad silver notes and slumps back into the couch.

“Benrey,” Gordon starts. “I’m pissed at you.”

He doesn’t have the energy to flinch. He just closes his eyes.

“No, don’t—look at me.” He opens them again to meet Gordon’s heated gaze. “You just did so much shit to me—you drove me insane, you made me lose my arm, you almost killed me—I still have nightmares about you! I was so tired of dealing with you, with all of you—but you had to.” Gordon laughs, notes bittersweet. “You had to grow on me.”

Benrey gulps.

“I can’t leave you to die. I don’t want to see you being a shell of yourself, man. Hell, do I have to say it? I want the old Benrey back. Maybe not the one at the end of it all, you know, but—” Gordon sighs. “Just don’t kill me. Or others. I don’t think you want to, but it’s the only thing I draw a line on at the moment. But please, don’t just wilt here.”

He wonders, again, why he was left practically at Gordon’s doorstep. Maybe the universe still found hope for them.

“I won’t,” he promises, as straightforward as he can be.

They stay in silence for a while, Gordon standing up in front of him as he drinks in the man’s gaze for the first time since they met again. He missed this. He missed feeling welcome. He missed feeling free.

“Bought some Cheetos earlier,” Gordon says, suddenly breaking the silence. “Want some?”

“Uhh…” He thinks. Can he? “Do you have any chips?”

Gordon laughs. “You motherfucker—I saw the face you made at the Doritos, don’t tell me you hate Cheetos too.”

“I uhh… Don’t hate them? But they’re pretty… Yeah. No. You have chips?”

“No, but we can get them.” Gordon grabs the keys of the house. “Coming?”

“No way, bro.” He perks up. Oh, yes, he missed this. “I’m out of gamer fuel. Batteries depleted. Need to recharge first.”

Gordon groans. “Alright, but if I get you the wrong brand don’t complain, alright?”

“Oh, I will,” he says, grinning. “I’ll be so annoying about it… you’ll be laughing and yelling so loud the neighbors will fill a complaint.”

“Do you realize that we’ll both be kicked out, right?” Gordon says, a glint in his eyes. “No home for any of us.”

Benrey pales. “Alright. Uhh… I’ll tune it down a bit.”

Gordon chuckles. But soon he frowns. “I’m serious, though. You’re out of danger. I won’t kick you out. We’re… as good as we can be at the moment. Alright?”

He nods. “Alright, Feetman.”

Gordon exits the apartment with a last “Don’t call me that!” and Benrey feels that, while they have still things to talk about… they’re heading in the right direction. He doesn’t look forward to untangling his feelings into words, but if Gordon did, he should too. And he will.

Maybe not today. Or tomorrow. But things will get better. Because while it seemed impossible at first, but they already did.

**Author's Note:**

> I'm glad to have finished this! I think I just needed a little push and I had a wonderful day today, so it helped a whole lot.
> 
> If you want to, you can think of it as pre-relationship, but i dunno, there are many romantic fics already. What's important here, more than if there's a ship or not, is the exploration of their dynamic, I think.
> 
> I want them to be happy, however that is dsjkfsk
> 
> (Also sorry, no Joshua here lol)
> 
> Thank you very much for reading! ♥


End file.
